Diary
by vernajast
Summary: Kakashi's team is scattered and he's feeling useless and bored, until he comes across an open window. In a ninja village, it's an invitation to go inside and look around. But what if he doesn't like what he finds? KakaIru, sad.
1. pt 1

_Warnings for whole series: a little language, a smattering of violence, implied past character death, alcohol, and angst. This doesn't have a happy ending, so for fluff, don't read this. It made quite a few people cry. Thanks to the KI community on LJ for initial feedback and motivation after I'd gotten stuck on this story. Most of all, please enjoy._

* * *

**diary.  
**

**pt. 1**

**by vernajast**

_kakashi x iruka_

**What are you doing?**  
_Reading._  
**You know you should be training.**  
_I did._  
**Then, you should be on a mission.**  
_I was._  
**What about your team?**  
_They don't need me._

_That_ shut Obito up long enough for Kakashi to finish his paragraph and snap his book closed. It rested in his lap, dangling between his knees with his hands.

**Now what?**  
_I'm bored._  
**Yeah, I got that.**  
_I need something to..._

The thought trailed off when his eye fell on an apartment building he was sure he'd been in before.

**Your friends Raidou and Genma live there.**

What he'd noticed wasn't its familiarity, but the corner that was situated farthest from the road, shaded by a particularly large tree.

The darkened window he saw there was actually "darker" than it should be. There was no reflection on the glass.

**Interesting!**  
_No, it isn't._  
**You're no fun, bastard.**  
_Crybaby. Bored to tears, no doubt._  
**Shut up!**

Kakashi had lied. It _was_ at least a little interesting. Compared to reading his book for the sixth...seventh time. And an open window in a ninja village was an invitation to enter.

The traps on the window weren't complex, but a reliable deterrent to most of the graffiti-prone hooligans and petty thieves one might expect to try and break in. Kakashi took no time disabling them and moving on, hopping down onto the floor, landing lightly on shag carpet that turned out to be a rug over hardwood.

His first impression of the room he had entered was 'sparse,' followed closely by 'bland.' And 'dusty,' though that seemed more to blame on the apartment seeming to be unlived in for a while. He was poised beside a window in the living room, a connected dining room off to the side abutted a bar that separated it from the kitchen. A hallway likely led to the bedroom and bathroom, a few abstract paintings hung on the long wall. Everything was covered in a sheen of gray dust.

Leaving the window open to keep from bringing further attention to the apartment, Kakashi took a few tentative steps forward, listening, sensing, prepared for anything, including more traps. There was nothing.

A couch sat in the middle of the room, printed with birds and leaves in pale colors, and in front of it, a TV. Off to the side was a desk cluttered with papers and pens; the only disorganized section of the apartment, he guessed from the way the books on the nearby shelf were organized alphabetically by subject, title, author. The owner of this apartment seemed to have real issues.

**And you don't? You broke in.**  
_I was invited._  
**Were not, baka! You're trespassing!**  
_At __**your**__ request._

Kakashi shrugged slightly, a twitch of the shoulders at best, when Obito fell quiet, and continued inward, toward the beckoning hallway. He still didn't know who lived here, but the dust would indicate they were definitely gone. Anyone going on a long-term mission would have the foresight to cover their belongings with sheets, so it only left one option. The owner of this apartment was dead, and no one had bothered clearing it out. He flipped the light switch in the hallway experimentally, immediately flipping it off again when the corridor filled with light.

No one had bothered with the electricity shut-off order. Interesting.

**I told you it would be!**

Ignoring Obito, Kakashi stepped into the bedroom and looked around, not at all surprised by the lack of anything personal on the walls or shelves. More scrolls on weaponry and basic strategy, a hazy old mirror, a bed. Kakashi's eyes slid over the bed, calculating silently. The sheets were pulled back and mussed, but there was a definite man-shaped hole in the blankets where someone had been burrowed in underneath and then rolled out hastily. A corresponding indention was pressed into the dust-covered pillow. Without hesitation, Kakashi touched the spot where the owner had last slept, cocking his head to the side.

Roaming around the rest of the room, he found a few keepsakes he hadn't noticed on his first glance because they were so seemingly inconsequential. There was a teaching award and a commendation from the Third Hokage. A few photos in frames lined the windowsill, including, strangely enough, one of Naruto and another featuring a couple he thought he recognized, though he couldn't say from where. On another desk similar to the one in the living room, a small plant with a card in it that read 'Get well, soon, sensei!' had withered and died surrounded in papers beside an inert computer.

Pursing his lips, Kakashi retraced his steps across the room and out into the hallway, headed to the bathroom and wondering if the plumbing still had access to the public water system. When he flipped on the lightswitch, he was again surprised that the room was illuminated fully, and when turning on the sink produced water, he shook his head and went about his business, using the toilet, flushing, considering the sound of the water filling the tank. _Irresponsible._

His curiosity was really starting to get the best of him, so on a whim, he went back to the bedroom and poked the power button on the front of the computer, smirking behind his mask when it hummed to life.

**That's snooping!**  
_Yes._  
**Don't you care?**  
_No._

He could practically hear Obito's huff and sigh in his own. Why was he bothering? _I hate being bored._

**Curiosity killed the Hatake.**  
_No, Hatake kill themselves, one way or another. Get out of my head._  
**Pfft. I wish; it's crazy in here.**

_TBC_


	2. pt 2

_Warnings for whole series: a little language, a smattering of violence, implied past character death, alcohol, and angst. _

* * *

**diary.**

**pt. 2**

**by vernajast**

_kakashi x iruka_

Kakashi slid into the desk chair, which was less dusty than everything else for having been pushed underneath. On the plain green computer screen, there were files for 'Tests' and 'Grades,' for 'Lesson Plans' and 'Notes'. The same name appeared on all of the files, as well as the scattered papers littering the surface of the desk: _Umino Iruka._ There wasn't much in the way of personal information, however, just the boring notes of an academy instructor.

Only one file drew his attention again and again until he finally clicked on it. It was labeled 'Log,' and it opened to reveal a list of dated videos. Kakashi's eye scanned over each, noting that they started roughly three years before, ending nearly a year ago, which would explain the dust if the last entry corresponded with the owner's death.

**Kakashi.**  
_I know._

Neither could deny the rush of expectation as Kakashi clicked on the first video and leaned back in the chair when it started playing. A smiling young man with tan skin and bright brown eyes appeared before the camera, seated in the very same chair.

_"Um, hi, there. I've never done anything like this before, but I thought-well, Sandaime-sama suggested I try it. Apparently, he thinks I have issues with stress..."_ The man on-screen made a face that clearly showed his disagreement, and then he smiled cheerfully.

_"Anyway, here we go. I'm Umino Iruka, a teacher at the ninja academy. I have a wonderful class of pre-genin. I like to read, and occasionally paint. I...don't really know what else to say here. It's not like anyone is going to watch it, after all, but-"_ Iruka shrugged and winked, _"-I can always re-watch it myself to see how silly I was. Ah well, off to grade some more papers before training with Ko-chan."_ He bent forward, apparently turning off the camera, and the screen went black.

Five seconds later, the video started over. _"Um, hi, there. I've never..." _

Kakashi turned off the volume, watching the man's movements, trying to place him. There was a rather unique scar across the bridge of his nose, and he was sure he'd spoken to him before, but...

"Fuck." It was him. The jackass sensei who had tried to tell him how to teach his own genin team. The young man had stood up to both Kakashi and Sarutobi, trying to keep the kids out of the chuunin exams that time. _If I'd listened, things might have gone better._ It was an understatement, he thought, but Kakashi let it go and, for once, so did Obito.

_What happened to him?_ The apartment hadn't been touched, obviously, since sometimes after the younger man left it. The layer of dust had been undisturbed, only Kakashi's footprints marred its pristine blanket. He assumed it must just be a case of no relatives coming for the stuff, no one bothering or no one finding the time. He wondered if the same would happen if he, himself, died, but the answer was obvious. Kakashi was a high profile asset to the village. He was important. No doubt the Hokage would arrange something. Umino was just a chuunin sensei who didn't warrant the involvement of the Hokage, apparently.

Except, there was something. It had been nearly a year ago, a small funeral. Someone had mentioned not wanting to upset any of his students with a larger affair, and Kakashi had dwelt on it for only a moment, the thought that Naruto would want to know. But Naruto had already gone off with Jiraiya, would be preoccupied with his training and searching for Sasuke. Kakashi hadn't spared the dead man another thought; death was their chosen way of life.

With another sigh, not sure why except he really was very bored before, Kakashi clicked the next video.

_"Today, I got a new student. Uchiha Sasuke. He used to be tutored by the Uchiha, and then he was moved elsewhere and tutored by a scholar instead. But Sandaime-sama has decided the boy needs to socialize, and after meeting him, I think I have to agree. He's a dour young man, quiet, but very proper when he does speak. He answers all of my questions correctly, but offers nothing more than the bare answer, and I worry about him hiding so deeply inside himself." _

Iruka shuffled some papers, looking at notes on the Uchiha boy.

_"Sasuke's going to hate me for it, but I'm placing him next to Naruto tomorrow. They're complete opposites, but Naruto seems to get a reaction out of everyone, so why not Sasuke? And perhaps Sasuke's scholarship will rub off on Naruto along the way. Wish me luck. Hopefully they won't kill each other. The first day, anyway."_ Brown eyes softened a little and the chuunin smiled before turning off the camera.

As soon as the audio fell silent and the image faded, Kakashi clicked the 'Stop' button to keep it from repeating. _You and me both, sensei._

There was a noise from somewhere behind him, and Kakashi disappeared before discerning the source, leaving the chair spinning gently in front of the desk and the humming computer in Umino Iruka's dusty bedroom.

For two weeks, Kakashi avoided that apartment, that building, that side of town. He didn't think about it, just like he didn't think about his scattered team, either, except the fleeting reassurance that they were all at least alive, if separated. Obito was disturbingly quiet.

After three missions back-to-back, his fourth request was blocked by a curt note from Tsunade: "Take a break, Hatake."

If it weren't for her tight, peckish handwriting, he might have mistaken it for a note from his sensei. _Take a break, Kakashi._ No doubt, the Hokage was well aware of this.

Staring at the note as if uncomprehending, he finally crumpled it up and let it dissolve into ash in the palm of his hand. _How?_

So it was that he turned in his last report, and then found himself standing empty-handed against the wall of the mission room, lingering when he would normally escape the awe and ridicule of his fellow shinobi as quickly as possible. Eyes that he liked to think missed nothing, even without the Sharingan, scanned the area trying to decide what it was that felt so wrong. He didn't spend much time in the mission room since he no longer had a group of clamoring genin following him around like puppies, and it wasn't as if he didn't expect _anything_ to change _ever_, but...

**Baka. You only notice now that he's gone.**  
_...this isn't like..._  
**It's exactly 'like,' so go ahead.**

Kakashi's brow twitched beneath his hitai-ate. With a small forced sigh, he slid his hands into his pockets, invoked as much apathy as he could muster, and crossed back to the desk.

"Hatake-san? Did you have something else to turn in?"

"No, no. I have...a question."

The desk nin looked up at him, a mirror of his own one-eyed gaze respectfully focused on Kakashi's chest, and said nothing.

Kakashi propped his hip against the desk, sliding papers aside to sit haphazardly along the edge. "Umino Iruka."

The chuunin opened his mouth to speak, closed it.

Sighing, as if on cue, Kakashi asked the young man's name, quietly. "Izumo-san, isn't it?"

"Yes." Izumo fidgeted with the corner of one of the papers and licked his lips.

"What happened to Umino-sensei?" He didn't intend the coldness that crept into his voice or the way he seemed to loom over the younger man. He liked to think he was still capable of interacting with his peers when he chose to.

Looking down and straightening a few papers, the chuunin seemed ready to ignore him, but then he turned a cool gaze on the Copy-nin. "You have all of the authorizations. Check his file...if you really want to know. Hatake-san." The desk nin stood and walked away, the stack of papers grasped between white knuckled fingers.

It was a dismissal, and Kakashi found himself impressed despite Izumo's attitude.

_He doesn't like me._  
**Are you surprised?**  
_A little._  
**Hn. Idiot. He doesn't **want **to remember. It **hurts**. You couldn't tell?**  
_Ah._

He frowned behind his mask at the other shinobi in the mission room, each trying to pretend they hadn't heard the entire exchange.

Affecting yet more apathy, and a bit of disdain to keep from being approached, he slouched down to the archives where, as Izumo had predicted, he found he had all of the necessary authorizations to read the younger shinobi's file. "Umino Iruka, ID 011450. Twenty-five years old." He was surprised by the number of missions, though the count was relatively inproportionate for his rank and age. There were mostly D-ranks, with less than one hundred B-ranks and a smattering of As.

_Parents died that night. Lives alone. Liv__**ed**__ alone. Someone cleaned out his fridge and pantry, left everything else. Perhaps Sakura. Went missing on a mission, presumed killed in action-_ Oh, he remembered something else, now: the sharp feel of a new name beneath his fingertips as he traced out old comrades on the memorial stone. Hadn't he cut his finger on the corner of the first symbol?

Kakashi closed the file and stuck it under his arm. No one would mind if he borrowed it for a bit to supplement his other reading materials, and if they did, he didn't care. Flicking his fingers through the handsigns, he appeared in a puff of smoke and fragrant green leaves in his own living room at the center of the large seal he knew was painted beneath his carpet. Immediately stepping out the front door, he smirked behind the dark fabric of his mask and started walking toward Iruka's fascinating apartment. The frivolous use of chakra to transport him home had also brought him halfway in a single jump.

He was entertaining the thought of following his Hokage's orders and taking a break by watching a few more of the sensei's videos to satisfy Obito's sniping commentary and his own curiosity.

**That file doesn't belong to you, bastard. So now you're stealing, too?**  
_I'm a shinobi._  
**You're just making up excuses.**

_TBC _


	3. pt 3

_Warnings for whole series: a little language, a smattering of violence, implied past character death, alcohol, and angst.  


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_

**diary.**

**pt. 3**

**by vernajast**

_kakashi x iruka_

After a few weeks, it became apparent that Kakashi had started some sort of tradition: mission, shower, Iruka. Sometimes he would forgo the shower, or he would use Iruka's, found in the nearly sterile condition he was starting to expect from the younger man. Despite Obito's protests to the contrary, he doubted Iruka cared that he made himself at home now that he was dead.

**But I care!**  
_Might I remind you that you're dead, too? You don't get an opinion, either._  
**Baka! I do so!**

Each time he dropped in through the living room window, it was with the reverence of a man entering a sacred temple, and aside from the hollow sound of his feet retracing his tracks across the hardwood floor, Kakashi made an effort not to break the silence unnecessarily. His eyes slid over each object with the same reverence as he passed, taking in the various pieces of the Iruka-puzzle, and he remembered this entry or that, the corresponding event that led to an award or the gift of a certain tacky knick-knack which his eyes found on a high shelf.

He always ended up in the bedroom. He always ended up watching the next video.

The young man on the computer screen cast a pensive look at the camera, fidgeted with something off-screen, and then seemed to come to a decision.

_"I...don't really feel like doing this, but I promised so...One of my kids lost her mother today. I don't know anything about the mission except that it was above my authorization, so I'll have to ask Izumo-kun about it later. Today is Kana's birthday. She had just been telling me about the party they were planning when..."_

Kakashi shifted on the bed, feeling more and more like a voyeur. Iruka pulled his hair down from its high ponytail, seemingly forgetting that he was on camera.

_"It's not that I didn't know how to comfort her. But I knew there really wasn't any comfort to be had. Nothing I said would bring her mother back, and I've never figured out how to make that ache go away. I think she handled it better than I did at that age. M-maybe she's more cut out to be a shinobi than I ever was."_

A frown appeared on Iruka's lips just before he leaned forward and turned off the camera with a muttered, _"I just can't."_

As always, Kakashi did the same, jabbing the proper key to stop the video, as if afraid to play it again.

Nights like that, he sometimes stayed in the empty apartment. He would pull back the dusty coverlet on the chuunin's bed to lie on the clean sheet. He had turned the pillow case inside out, but it retained the homey scent of cedar and sandalwood that he imagined were Iruka, and he would leave his mask down and just breathe it in. It was nice to pretend to belong somewhere other than his tiny apartment.

**Too bad you never appreciated him like this when he was alive, huh?**  
_Then, he was..._  
**Annoying? Stubborn? Brave enough to stand up to someone like you?**

Kakashi imagined Obito's goofy, self-satisfied grin that contrasted so drastically with all-things Uchiha.

_You're taking this too personally._  
**Aw, you're no fun anymore.**  
_You've said so before._

The next time, it was raining. He made a quick detour past the mission room, and then slipped through Iruka's window with a soggy, sick sound that turned his stomach.

The pristine trail of footprints through dusty "snow" was obliterated by rainwater that ran in unbroken trails from his hair and clothes to soak the rug he had landed on. It disappointed him somehow, and as he gazed down at the irrevocable destruction, Kakashi was suddenly overtaken by a distinct sense of foreboding: something was about to happen, change. The temporary happiness he had found in Iruka's abandoned existence was just that-temporary. It wasn't going to last.

**It never does.**

For once, Obito sounded like Sasuke in his head. Kakashi might have taken a moment to laugh, both amused and disturbed, but there was no valid reason to dispute the point.

Resignedly, the Copy-nin carried himself further into the apartment without the usual rambling exploration of the teacher's belongings. He steamed up the bathroom with water hot enough to scald his pale skin bright pink and walked naked through the hallway to search the drawers of Iruka's dresser for something to wear. A plain gray t-shirt and black boxer shorts made him feel washed out and cold, colorless, drained, but he didn't bother to look for something more cheerful.

The next video was ready to play, so he pressed the correct buttons and reclined on the bed to listen to Iruka's voice, musing that the two people who talked to him most were both dead.

Except the voice he heard coming from the speaker wasn't Iruka's at all.

There was a rich laugh off-screen, a deep rumble Kakashi almost recognized. And then Iruka tried to shush the other so that he could make his entry.

_"I can't do this if you're talking. Just a minute."_ The tan chuunin flashed a smile at the camera and chuckled lightly. _"I've been working with Naruto every day after school for a week, but I don't think he wants to graduate. It doesn't help that he's always getting into trouble. I spent all day yesterday when I __could have been grading papers waiting for him to dig hundreds of mushrooms out of the fountain at the center of the village. It seems he wanted to find out if they would float, but really, he overdid it again, as always..."_

The other voice spoke up, _"He'll come around eventually, Iruka. He's still finding his place,"_ and Iruka nodded and smiled before turning back toward the camera.

_"Mizu-kun is right, of course. It's not Naruto's fault that he's never had anyone to teach him the basics. When he started at the academy, he could barely touch his chakra, so I suppose I should be glad he's made it this far. When he takes his genin exam next week, I-"_

A pillow flung from the same direction off-screen smacked Iruka in the side of the head and the person with the rich voice chuckled again. A very annoyed chuunin glared into the camera.

"_**Obviously**__, I'm not going to finish this right now, and with the genin exams coming up, I won't likely have time later, either. I guess the next entry will be about the results, so I hope everyone does their best!"_

How the man could go so quickly from a frown to a smile, Kakashi couldn't say, and he had yet to catch him actually doing it. One minute, a frown; the next, a grin. It reminded him of Obito, but he was surprised his ever-present conscience didn't point that out himself.

**I just figured you'd see it eventually.**  
_Right._  
**I did, too. You're just dense!**

Kakashi stretched out on his stomach and poked the keyboard to advance to the next file. It was a grim Iruka who greeted him, and for a few held breaths, the two seemed to lock gazes. Kakashi tried to read the emotions in those eyes-but then Iruka was speaking and there was no need.

_"I never wanted it to happen this way."_

The younger shinobi's voice remained quiet as he described Mizuki's betrayal, his expression lackluster, and Kakashi's hands fisted angrily in the sheet when he finally connected the name to a face, to a _voice_. He had just seen Iruka with Mizuki; he could back up to the previous video and witness it all over again. Iruka had trusted the man. There had been teasing and laughter and something carefree about the whole scene...and then...this.

_He tried to k-kill Naruto, and my body just moved._

Miserably, the chuunin turned his back on the camera and lifted his shirt, showing off an assortment of gouged cuts from lodged kunai and shuriken and the knot of skin, scabbing, and black stitches along his spine where his body had acted as a shield.

In his mind, Kakashi could see it reenacted, over and over, the way it would have gone, the shadow clones Iruka was starting to describe numbering in the thousands.

His own body 'just moved' before he had time to process the action, and he hurled himself through the open living room window in Iruka's clothes, mask hanging loose around his neck to soak up the the rain that dripped from his chin as he ran.

Chakra flowed into pumping muscles.

There was a kunai in his hands.

And he came to a stop atop the hill overlooking Konoha's prison. _That man_ was being held there, alive, while Iruka...

**Whatcha doin', Kakashi?**  
_Nothing._  
**It's a wet nothing.**  
_Yeah._  
**Put your mask on before you hurt someone with that face.**

One hand automatically obeyed. The other dropped the kunai.

**This isn't like you, bastard.**  
_I know._

Kakashi returned to Iruka's apartment with every intention of shutting down the computer, removing the evidence of his visit, and disappearing.

He found himself waking the next morning in the chuunin's bed still wearing the damp boxers and t-shirt.

_TBC _


	4. pt 4

_Warnings for whole series: a little language, a smattering of violence, implied past character death, alcohol, and angst._

* * *

**diary.**

**pt. 4**

**by vernajast**

_kakashi x iruka_

Kakashi noticed it for the first time when Asuma asked him what he got up to in his off-time lately, and he tersely mumbled, "Reading," and kept walking.

He noticed it when he walked past the academy on his way home from the mission room even though he lived on the opposite side of town and when he considered stopping to have ramen at Ichiraku to appease a sudden turn toward the sentimental.

It was evident in the way he couldn't _stop_ going to the chuunin's apartment, couldn't stop watching him. On his way home from missions, he found himself wondering what Iruka did 'today.'

It took all of six months after stealing into Iruka's apartment, into his life, for Kakashi to notice he had fallen in love with a dead man.

Amidst Obito's snorting giggles, he had to admit that it was far too typical.

_This is my life. Laugh, if you must, Obito, but you started it._  
**Yes, blame me. I can't exactly defend myself, after all. But I only said it would be interesting.**  
_And was it?_  
**Absolutely!**

The silver-haired shinobi made an appeasing noise, a soft hum of grudging agreement, and nodded, gazing at the young man on the computer screen.

_"-and I took him out for ramen again; he hasn't gotten enough in his bank account yet to take proper care of himself. Naruto's a really good kid, I know that now, and I'm so proud of the progress he's made. I don't just mean as a shinobi, either. I remember when his smiles were just so...so empty. But now they're real, genuine, and he has a goal. I'm really glad I gave him a chance to-"_

Kakashi was entertained for a while. He would pretend Iruka was waiting for him at the end of the day, ready to rub his feet after the long run from Suna or treat his sprained ankle with soothing words and touches, sparring, teasing. It was too easy to imagine what it might have been like, too easy to close his eyes and imagine Iruka's hand on him when he was in the shower or lying in the chuunin's bed, a warm shinobi body pressed against his own.

It was too easy.

It was.

And then it was over.

_That night_-a night he would never forget no matter how often he begged for it to just be a mistake, all of it, a dream-that night began with a death.

Kakashi held her in his arms, watched her life slip away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hatake Kakashi didn't like to feel useless. And Obito recorded every moment of her death, every moment the Sharingan was exposed, because Kakashi couldn't turn it off, couldn't un-see the things that he was witnessing. The enemy cut down civilian and shinobi with equal violence, without regard to age or innocence. No, he could never un-see, erase, those images.

When he reached the Leaf village, it was well past midnight and the streets were mostly deserted. His tired, hunched body stumbled through his home without guidance, and he never did figure out how he managed to make it to the hospital instead of heading straight to his apartment to collapse. Tsunade herself looked him over, citing some promise to his dead sensei to look out for 'the brat.' The gash in his side required ten stitches on top of her healing techniques, and he stared at the ceiling through the whole ordeal with far too much detachment.

When he left, his torso was wrapped like a mummy in gauze. Like something dead. Obito warned him not to be morbid, but even the voice of his constant conscience betrayed the tremors that still occasionally wracked his body as he tried to make his way home without drawing too much attention.

Home, as it turned out, was Iruka's apartment, and Kakashi didn't mind trashing the bloody remains of his uniform for one of the chuunin's t-shirts. He settled down on the bed as if it were his own and whispered, "I'm back," before starting the next video on the list.

**You're sick, you know that?**  
_Probably._

Iruka spent a few minutes setting up the camera, and Kakashi's eye followed the graceful motions, wondering vaguely why he hadn't ever paid attention when he had the chance, when he could have swept Iruka off his feet with a flash of his smile and a few well-placed compliments.

The chuunin slumped into his usual chair and seemed to consider his words before he spoke:

_"I hate Hatake Kakashi."_

_TBC _


	5. pt 5

_Warnings for whole series: a little language, a smattering of violence, implied past character death, alcohol, and angst._

_

* * *

_

**diary.**

**pt. 5**

**by vernajast**

_kakashi x iruka_

_"I hate Hatake Kakashi."_

Kakashi stared slack-jawed at the screen, trying to make sense of the words, but there was only the deafening roar in his ears and a heaviness in his chest that threatened suffocation. But the younger man was still speaking, so with paramount effort he forced himself to back it up, started over, sure there was some mistake.

_"I hate Hatake Kakashi."_ Iruka balled his hands into fists as if to control himself from acting on his feelings in some violent way. _"He's...he's just an arrogant, stubborn, egotistic, patronizing, condescending, smug jounin who thinks he can say anything from behind the safety of his stupid looking mask!"_

Iruka's face was red when he paused for breath, his hands obviously shaking in his lap. His whole body vibrated with unspent emotion held at bay by force of will. Kakashi's eye was completely focused on Iruka's darker ones, held by eyes that showed an immense amount of hurt, anger, and disgust.

_"But do you know what's worse? He's right. I knew it, but I couldn't bring myself to back down in front of Sandaime-sama and the others. I know how they look down on us, as if the chuunin instructors at the academy are just babysitters. Like we're just incubating their 'soldiers' until they are ready to—to __**hatch**__! GAH! I don't know when they're going to start respecting the work we do preparing those kids. Probably never after my little outburst. And Kakashi just...the way he looked at me..."_

There was a pause in which Iruka and Kakashi took a breath together. The younger man scrubbed a hand over his face before looking directly into the camera, directly at Kakashi, all trace of emotion banished.

_"I really hate him, and I hope I never speak to him again."_

Those eyes far too cold to be Iruka's stared into the camera for a long moment before he switched it off and the screen went black.

When the video automatically started over from the beginning, Kakashi let it.

_"I hate Hatake Kakashi."_

It hurt hearing those words again and again from the mouth of the man with whom he had somehow formed a one-sided bond, but Kakashi let it play on. He decided at some point that he deserved the pain and the disappointment. He deserved to find out exactly what Iruka had thought of him because these were the things Iruka believed when he died, and Kakashi had never done anything to correct that when he had the chance.

On camera, Iruka had resumed his diatribe; Kakashi's fingers brushed the screen, Iruka's cheek. "I don't deserve you."

_Failed mission. Failed Iruka._

He held his injured side as he rolled off the bed and stumbled back into the living room. Tucked away in the corner, camouflaged by the many layers of dust, was a liquor cabinet constructed of polished cherry and frosted glass. Inside, the bottles were arranged by contents and size, and the glasses stood in neat rows without a smudge or fingerprint to be seen.

Kakashi reached in and took the largest bottle of clear alcohol from the back of the shelf and snatched a glass from the first row with a self-deprecating sigh that was much louder without his mask. He ignored the other bottles that shifted out of order under his rough handling, and though he knew it was childish, some part of him accepted that each movement was perfectly calculated to destroy the order within the cabinet.

It didn't make him feel better, and he suddenly hated the neatness of the apartment. For every book and picture and cushion in just the right spot, he could only imagine Iruka spending his evenings straightening and re-straightening, a neurotic cleaning habit to combat the loneliness he knew the younger man sometimes felt. Knew _now_, but had never known when he could have done something about it.

He didn't wait to move back to the bedroom, but poured himself a drink right where he stood, downed it, and poured himself another.

He pressed his hand deliberately into the clinging dust on the cabinet top, leaving a large, splayed print, and then raised his glass, whispering, "For you." He drained it again, banging the glass down on the cabinet with a sardonic chuckle that lacked the warmth he just didn't feel.

His feet carried him toward the bedroom. Halfway, Kakashi paused in the hall and poured a third drink, sipping it while he let his gaze slide over the faded photographs of Iruka and his parents that lined the walls. The playground, the training ground, the academy—scenes he had already memorized, but he needed to see Iruka's smiling face instead of the monstrosity waiting in the other room. In frustration, he reached up and flicked the corner of one of the frames, tilting the picture at an angle.

Kakashi might have repeated the action up and down the hallway, and then he might have felt better, but he was close enough to hear Iruka's voice, and it pulled him onward. He followed obediently, balancing the bottle and glass in one hand while the other clutched at his side where it ached with every careless twist of his torso.

Obito remained silent through the whole ordeal, and Kakashi didn't bother to ask why.

The same video continued to play, an endless stream of hate directed at the Copy-nin who had wronged Iruka, and who now forced himself to sit on the very same chuunin's bed with his back propped against the headboard, listening. Two-thirds into the bottle, Kakashi lost consciousness, accepting the embrace of blessed darkness and imagining someone was waiting for him within.

When the sun rose high enough the next morning to shine in through Iruka's bedroom window, it felt as if the rays were landing directly on Kakashi's face, his eye, and he screwed up his features as he slept, trying to avoid the sun and the awakening that was fast approaching.

At first, he was only aware of the headache and easily attributed it to chakra drain and the Sharingan before he rolled over in search of a few more hours of sleep. His injury burned with the movement, and Kakashi was jolted awake by memory and pain: the horror of his mission and the discovery that had been waiting for him at...home. He smelled of spilled sake and found the glass still clutched in his hand where it had landed when he slid into oblivion.

And then, there was Iruka's voice. The video was still playing, the same words.: _"I really hate him...never speak to him again...I hate Hatake Kakashi..."_

He couldn't take it.

He practically leaped from the bed, stumbled and slumped against the wall as the room spun around him, found his equilibrium, and made a swipe for the keyboard. He mostly missed, only managing to advance to the next video, but instead of bothering with it, he snarled at the computer and decided it didn't matter. In his hung-over state, he only knew that he wanted that voice to _stop_, to never speak again, because it wasn't Iruka. It wasn't _real_, and it never would be.

Tripping around Iruka's apartment, nauseated and his feet seeming unable to find the flat parts of the floor, he still managed to gather everything together, even the tattered uniform. He leaned against the frame of the open window and took a last, desperate look around, swearing to himself that he would never follow one of Obito's instincts again (and he could detect his counterpart's unspoken agreement).

Then he breathed deeply, and with the scent of cedar and sandalwood—of Iruka—filling his senses, he fled through that fateful window for the last time.  
_  
TBC _


	6. pt 6

_Warnings for whole series: a little language, a smattering of violence, implied past character death, alcohol, and angst. Last chapter.  
_

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**diary.**

**pt. 6, final**

**by vernajast**

_kakashi x iruka_

Kakashi paced his apartment, a frown hidden behind the dark cloth of his mask. It was too small, cramped, and messy to suit him now, with his bed shoved into one corner and the kitchenette's single square of cabinet space squashed between the wall and refrigerator.

His Icha Icha collection annoyed him the most. There was a light layer of dust on the shelf that refused to let him forget that for over half of a year he had devoted his time to a different pastime, and he steadfastly refused to clean it.

This was driving him mad. He had to get out. He had to do something to bring some kind of closure. And he knew what that something was, though he was loath to do it because it would mean everything was truly over. The relationship he had never actually had was over.

**It's about time.**  
_Shut up._  
**They'll enjoy the visit, too.**  
_Sure, so they can laugh._  
**Baka! They wouldn't!**

Carefully, Kakashi cut a strip from one of his blank scrolls. From the drawer in his bedside table, he produced a grease pencil, and he tucked the two sacred objects away in his pouch. He watered his plant. He fiddled with the photographs on his windowsill and wondered if he could find one of Iruka to add to the collection.

He finally left the apartment when he couldn't find any other way to stall.

The trek to the memorial stone was one he could make in his sleep; he literally had on more than one occasion in those early days after the Kyuubi's attack, when their deaths were fresh, deep wounds on his soul. When he arrived, he knelt at first to offer a solemn prayer and remained kneeling to whisper a second, an apology, to Iruka.

He took out the scroll piece and the grease pencil and leaned in, wary of the sharp edges of Iruka's name and not at all surprised to find dry blood staining the corner of the first symbol. It made him smile, and with the hint of it still twisting his lips, he made a delicate rubbing of the teacher's name.

Surveying his work and deeming it acceptable, the pencil returned to his pouch and the scroll piece was slipped into his pocket to remain clenched between his fingers. It would be sewn into the lining of his pouch later, alongside Rin and Obito. Father and Mother. Kushina-san. Sensei.

The wind in the trees caught his attention, and he turned a single gray eye up to watch the branches sway in the breeze. Perhaps he would stay for a while, he decided and sat down, leaning his back against the cool stone and the names of the shinobi whom he had once told fledgling Team 7 were _heroes_.

In an empty apartment across town, Umino Iruka's voice continued to narrate his life, and Kakashi's frantic slap to the keyboard had done more than advance to the next video. They were no longer repeating.

_"-six bowls of ramen, but he was so excited about training for the chuunin exams that he forgot and only had four. I feel like I got away with something, like the order of the universe has been disrupted. But I like it. I've never seen Naruto so focused..."_

_"-that I know I was wrong. When it was Naruto who beat Hyuuga Neji, I suddenly understood. I should have pushed them harder, I should have expected more. I was too soft on them, and Hatake-san...Kakashi, he was right. They aren't children anymore; they're the shinobi I trained them to become. I just wasn't ready to let go..."_

_"-I'm so tired of being alone..."_

_"-believes that Sasuke-kun left to join Orochimaru, and I swear, if that snake..."_

_"-that he's gone with Jiraiya-sama. Maybe it's for the best, but I don't believe Naruto will ever give up..."_

_"-saw Kakashi at the training fields. I wonder if he would be interested in reading the newest letter from Naruto? Sakura-chan's finished with it, so I suppose I could ask, but..."_

_"-and Kotetsu says Kakashi was going to-oh, ha-ha, it seems like I'm developing an infatuation with the man! Izumo won't quit teasing me..."_

Another video loaded, and an image of Iruka sat very still in front of the camera, almost as if he were examining the room beyond the screen. _"I have some great news: I'm taking some time off from the academy to complete a mission, a B-rank, something to break up the hum-drum of everyday and hopefully remind me why I do this job."_

He reached back and tightened his ponytail, bit his lip, smiled.

_"And when I get back, I'm going to ask Kakashi to go to dinner with me. I shouldn't play favorites, but without Naruto in the village, it's too quiet. And I wonder, well, perhaps Kakashi feels the same without his team. I think maybe he does, and I think, maybe, we could help one another."_

He rubbed his scar with his index finger and sighed. _"I think we could be friends once we got to know each other. I'd really like that."_

The young teacher continued smiling for a few quiet moments, and then bent down, fiddled with something, and the screen went blank.

Five seconds later, his voice began again.

_"Um, hi, there. I've never kept anything like this before..."_

[ . end ]

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_I hope you've enjoyed it. Er, here's a tissue? I am likely going to write a one-shot about Iruka's mission (with no definitive answer as to his whereabouts, of course), and some of the people on Y!Gallery are trying to convince me to write a hypthetical "Iruka returns" piece, but I'm resisting that as I usually don't do sequels and would hate to ruin the angst. _

_Thanks to the KakaIru LJ community for the motivation. Their comments on part 1 are the reason 2-6 got written, and this story is proof of just how powerful your comments can be in getting an author excited about a story. Of course, if you don't leave a comment, no worries; I'm just happy you read it. Thanks!_

_Lene / vj  
_


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